


Hearts Working Overtime

by coloursflyaway



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-07-29 18:23:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7694677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coloursflyaway/pseuds/coloursflyaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five of Harry's and Eggsy's first times and one last kiss (before getting married).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hearts Working Overtime

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OpenHeart_WickedMind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpenHeart_WickedMind/gifts).



> I got three prompts, which I liked pretty much the same (love confessions after sex, what they thought at their first meeting, when they realised they were in love) so I thought I'd write a rather unusual fill - for all three of those prompts.  
> I hope you like it, OpenHearts_WickedMind! ♥

  1. _The first time they meet_



„You have to have some friends in high places“, the police officer tells Eggsy with a sneer, with eyes that seem to accuse him of a dozen things all at once; he does not understand.  
“What?”, he asks, the police officer scoffs, and it’s only now that Eggsy realised that the other man hasn’t closed the door to the interrogation room behind him. “What the fuck is goin’ on?”  
“You’re free to go, that’s what is going on.” The police officer crosses his arms, looking like Eggsy is a stain of shit on the otherwise spotless floor, and it would be enraging if Eggsy wasn’t so dumbfounded by the fact that he can leave, that he won’t have to spend the next eighteen months in a prison cell. That the number on his medal truly did what his mother always told him it would – it saved him.

Slowly, he gets up, still half-expecting the officer to tell him it was just a joke after all, but nothing comes, just another dirty stare. And Eggsy leaves, turns around and suppresses the urge to run. Instead, he walks, squints when the sunlight hits his eyes.  The day seems too sunny, too lovely to be the one he almost got thrown into prison, and although Eggsy is still confused, still shocked, he almost smiles as he walks down the steps.  
Until someone says his name.  
Eggsy whips around, and a man is standing in front of him, dark hair and sunglasses balanced on the bridge of his nose, his posture the one of a man who knows that he belongs where he is.  
“Would you like a lift home?“, the stranger asks, his voice even and pleasant, sounding like Eggsy thinks fine whiskey would taste. He’s handsome too, in a posh, polished way, a lord, a king, someone who shouldn’t know Eggsy’s name and definitely shouldn’t offer him a ride home.  
Which is why Eggsy doesn’t give an answer, but instead asks a question of his own. “Who are you?“  
“The man who got you released“, is all he gets, and it’s nothing and yet enough; whoever this is, he’s the one who saved Eggsy’s life.  
And while today might be too pretty a day to be thrown into a cell, it might just be pretty enough to meet the man he has spent his whole life thinking about.

 

* * *

 

Harry doesn’t know what kind of person he expects to walk out of the police station and it seems futile to try and predict how a boy of six years could have grown up. All he knows is what Merlin’s file on Eggsy has told him. Most of it was misgivings, faults and bad decisions, with small rays of hope in between – a gymnast, a IQ far beyond what Harry would have expected, a pretty face.  
“Eggsy”, he says to get the boy’s attention when he walks past him and it works perfectly, makes Eggsy whip around and gives Harry the chance to get a good look at him. He’s even got a _very_ pretty face, Harry corrects himself while Eggsy stares at him, all sharp edges and angles, green eyes that are brighter, more alert than he would have thought. His expression, though, is guarded, the corners of his pink mouth turned downwards.  
“Would you like a lift home?“, Harry asks, and gets the reaction he expected, suspicion flitting across Eggsy’s face.  
“Who are you?”

He could give the boy his name, but he doesn’t, prefers to tease instead. “The man who got you released.”  
“That ain't an answer.“  
Lee would have laughed, but Eggsy scowls, and why he thinks it so delightful, Harry doesn‘t know, but suppresses a smile that threatens to overtake his face anyway, lets amusement colour his tone when he replies. “A little gratitude would be nice. My name is Harry Hart, and I gave you that medal. Your father saved my life.”

 

  1. _The first time they realise they’re in love_



They haven’t seen much of each other, not with Eggsy’s training and Harry’s coma, which makes the few moments they get to spend together even more precious to Eggsy, something to look forward to, to work towards. Sometimes, it’s just a few words in-between doors, sometimes a cup of tea in Harry’s office, once or twice a dinner at HQ, never much, never enough. Which is why twenty-four hours he can spend with his mentor sound almost too good to be true.

When they step into the bullet train, Eggsy can still feel the shock of thinking he was going to die in his bones; it tints his thoughts, makes everything appear brighter and sharper and a little bit more frightening. But Harry is right there, with warm, brown eyes and a soft smile on his lips when he sits down in front of him.  
“I am very proud of you”, Harry tells him like it’s the easiest, the most natural thing in the world, and Eggsy feels his heart speed up. He has never gotten used to praise, never had the chance to, which causes the words now to taste even sweeter, sound as beautiful to his ears as any symphony would.  “Not that I ever doubted you would make it this far, but it’s still good to see that I haven’t been wrong.”  
He looks so earnest, so _proud_ that Eggsy’s breath catches in his throat, his skin prickles and there is a certain kind of warmth burning in his stomach, which he has long since come to associate with Harry. It feels like home, like hope, like…

… _oh_.

 

* * *

 

On screen, Louise hands Les five hundred pounds for Peggy’s funeral, and Harry takes a sip of his brandy, enjoying the burn of the alcohol when it slides down his throat. He’s long since stopped pretending that he doesn’t enjoy soap operas, so now, after coming back from Japan for a meeting, he can enjoy catching up on _EastEnders_ without feeling even the slightest bit of guilt.  
Japan, where Eggsy still is, undercover and far away to help make the world a slightly better place with well-aimed bullets and a few, usually less well-aimed explosions.  
There is no reason to worry, obviously, and yet Harry can’t quite shake the hint of concern that is laced into his thoughts when he imagines Eggsy blending in with a bunch of mobsters, corrupt politicians and skimpily dressed prostitutes. The boy can handle himself, has proven that to Harry and everyone else countless times, and yet…

Eggsy really has made him soft, just like Merlin always tells him, but Harry just can’t help it. Even if Eggsy can be infuriating, he’s impossible not to grow fond of, with his endless enthusiasm, kind heart, bright smile.  
A lovely, bright smile, really, which lights up his entire face, makes him look young and innocent and carefree, beautiful just like he always is. A smile which stretches his lips wide, lips which Harry would very much like to kiss one day.

His thoughts come to a screeching halt without Harry knowing why; something is wrong, out of the ordinary, and yet he cannot pinpoint what, at least not for a few more, blissfully oblivious moments. But then there is the word _kiss_ , and it echoes in Harry’s head until he realises that he is the one who thought it in the first place, and the image of Eggsy’s face is what put it there.  
The glass of brandy he is holding almost slips from his grasp, because his muscles suddenly seem to go lax, soft with shock, with realisation.  
Because he wants to kiss Eggsy, yes, but he wants to do so much more to the boy as well.  


  


  1. _The first time they kiss_



When it does happen, the one thing Eggsy has been hoping for for what feels like forever, it’s different than anything he ever would have imagined. In those nights in which he did allow himself to fantasise how it would be to kiss, to touch Harry, he thought it would be soft, gentle, at least at first; wandering hands and teasing lips, a few breathless sighs and soft, shared looks.  
But instead it’s clashing teeth and Eggsy’s back hitting the wall, it’s Harry panting against his neck, nipping at the soft skin there, groaning when Eggsy fits his thigh between the other man’s legs. And God, it’s still good, so very good, the friction of their bodies even underneath the layers of clothing between them, the heat of Harry’s mouth and the callouses on his fingers dragging across Eggsy’s skin.

He lets his hands slide down Harry’s back, feeling hard muscle and warm skin, hesitating for half a second before he allows himself to grab the older man’s arse, his moans turning into a growl when Harry sucks on his pulse point.  
“Jesus, Harry”, he gasps out, and the other hums against his neck, nips at Eggsy’s skin, puts his hands on his hips to pull Eggsy closer. The motion makes Harry’s thigh rub against Eggsy’s cock in the most delicious way, causing sparks of pleasure to travel up his spine, flow with his blood to even his fingertips, the soles of his feet. “God, please do that again.”  
And Harry does, sucks and bites and Eggsy thinks that this might be what heaven feels like, Harry’s mouth on his skin, his hands on Eggsy’s hips, his heart as close to Eggsy’s as it could possibly be.

 

* * *

 

Eggsy almost died. Eggsy almost _died_ , that’s what Harry’s brain keeps shouting at him, whispering, sobbing, because he always worried and yet never really thought it possible up until now; Eggsy almost died and Harry is devastated.  
It’s what he blames his reaction on, the hand on Eggsy’s arm, that dragged him out of the room almost as soon as the other had entered it, his lips, which kissed Eggsy desperately, his lungs which breathes half-formed sobs into the boy’s mouth. He didn’t expect anything, didn’t think enough to do so, but if he had, he would have thought Eggsy would push him away, either pity or disgust written across his face. But a miracle happened for a reason Harry cannot fathom, and Eggsy kissed back, wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist, let his hands travel down his back.

He never allowed himself to dream about this, knowing that the imagined feeling of Eggsy’s lips upon his would only make his suffering worse, and yet Harry is certain that he wouldn’t be disappointed if he had. Eggsy’s kisses are sloppy, but eager, and it’s that enthusiasm which sets Harry’s heart aflame, which makes him believe that this is real and not just some especially cruel dream.  
Pushing his hands into Eggsy’s soft hair, Harry kisses the corner of the boy’s mouth, drags his lips across the sharp line of his jaw, nips and sucks and caresses, feels intoxicated when Eggsy moans, when he grabs Harry’s arse, starts _begging._ Harry has had many days, good and bad one, but this might just be the best one in all the fifty-six years he had been on this Earth.

 

  1. _The first time they confess their love_



With a sigh, a soft moan, Eggsy presses closer, breathes in deeply to remember Harry’s scent later. Later, after the other has left, later, after he has had to remember that this is not real, at least not the way Eggsy wishes it was.  
He bares his neck so Harry can suck another almost-mark to his skin, claws his fingers into the older man’s back as Harry thrusts into him. because even if he cannot have this forever, he can have it now. The lust, the passion, the pretence of intimacy and the fleeting, futile hope that maybe, someday, this could turn into love.  
Harry’s cock feels perfect inside of him, hot and thick, stretching him open in the best way possible, his lips leaving slick trail of kisses down the side of Eggsy’s neck. Maybe this is as close to heaven as he will ever get, Eggsy thinks for one second, and then, from one moment to the next, he breaks.

They have been doing this for months now, casual, quick fucks in between meetings and missions, and at first Eggsy has been glad for it, glad for any possibility to spend time with Harry, even gladder when it involved touching, kissing. It wasn’t what he had hoped for, not what he had expected after Harry had kissed him that first time with something he thought had to be love, but it was better than nothing.  
Or it had been until it started hurting.  
At first, it had just been a quiet ache whenever they had parted, a bitter tightness in his chest, but as time had passed, after a dozen fucks, maybe more, it had turned into something more. The kind of pain which made it difficult to breathe, to think. It didn’t stop him from returning Harry’s kisses, from unbuttoning the other man’s shirt and sinking to his knees in front of him, but every time he left Harry’s bedroom, watched Harry leave his, it became more difficult to bear it.  
And this time, Eggsy doesn’t know why, he just knows that it will be the last time, that he cannot possibly bear to watch the man he has given his heart walk away from him only a few minutes after he has come.

It feels like a dam breaking inside of Eggsy, both a relief and a horrible realisation at the same time. Harry won’t leave him again, but that means that this is the last time he will have the other man in his arms as well.

Without thinking, he tightens his hold on Harry, tries to get him closer, buries his face in the other man’s neck. He smells like sweat and bergamot, a hint of sweetness still left from his aftershave, and it’s achingly familiar, the scent which lingers on his sheets after Harry has long since left.  
A sob wrecks through him before Eggsy can stop it, before he even realises it; he’s too distracted by his heart shattering into more pieces than he will ever be able to fit together again, by the splinters slicing his chest open from the inside.  
But Harry notices, because the other man is nothing but a gentleman, even now, when he is buried balls-deep inside of Eggsy. He stops mid-thrust, goes completely still above him. Eggsy can’t make out his face in the dim light illuminating Harry’s bedroom, but he knows how the other looks anyway; he knows Harry, even if the other man doesn’t seem to realise it.

A few moments pass in almost-silence, just their heavy breaths, the rustling of sheets disturbing it when Harry pushes himself up, then the older man asks, “Eggsy? What’s wrong?”  
He sounds like Eggsy knows he looks, concerned and yet polite, composed, although there is nothing Eggsy wants more than to make him lose control. But he can’t, the only thing he can do is press his fingernails deeper into Harry’s back and hope it helps; it doesn’t, and Eggsy feels even the last bit of his control slip.  
“Nothing”, he gasps out, but the word hasn’t even made it past his lips before Eggsy knows that it won’t be enough to make Harry believe him. And really, he thinks, a bright, clear thought in between the thick, hazy sadness, what does it matter anymore? If this is the last time, if he cannot take it anymore, what does it matter if Harry knows the truth?

Just like Eggsy knew he would, Harry pulls back, his still-hard cock slipping easily from Eggsy and leaving him dreadfully, painfully empty.  
“Eggsy”, he starts again, sounding less composed and more concerned, almost, just almost like he cares. There is no way Eggsy could allow him to say another word.  
“I can’t-“, he breathes out, slowly sitting up, because he cannot do this when he is still on Harry’s bed, hard and panting and _aching_. “This isn’t working. I’m sorry, Harry, I am, I thought I could do this, but – fuck, this is killing me, it is, because I have this and yet it’s not what I need-“  
There is nothing, no answer, not even another breath they share; a moment passes, then another one, then Harry asks, “What is it you need?”  
His voice isn’t cold, but it’s cool, not the one he used to whisper Eggsy’s name before, the few points where they are still touching suddenly don’t seem to be burning, but icy cold. He has lost all this, Harry’s warmth, his kind smiles, his easy quips and so familiar friendship.  
“You, Harry”, he answers anyway, sobs out the word quietly, feeling like he is staring down an abyss, not into the eyes of the man he loves. “ What else could I ever need but you?”

 

* * *

 

“You”, Eggsy says, and Harry’s heart stops in his chest; fifty-six years, too much whiskey, countless bullets and poisons and knives, and what accomplishes this feat are a few words uttered by a boy half his age when they are both still covered in sweat, breathing heavily, Harry still half hard, even if he had thought his life would end a second ago.  
“What else could I ever need but you?”, Eggsy continues and Harry wants to shoot the words right back at Eggsy, even if he knows his lips won’t allow him to. He cannot talk, cannot even understand what he is hearing, because Eggsy is everything and he is just an old, sad, jaded man, who doesn’t deserve the sunshine, the happiness Eggsy has already brought to his life, can’t ever deserve any love the boy could hold for him.  
He wants to ask if Eggsy is sure, if he has thought this through, has considered the difference of their age, if this isn’t just something that will last for the blink of an eye, half a moment in Eggsy’s life, but Harry trusts him, could never insult the boy like this. And knows at the same time that, no matter what Eggsy answer would be, if there was just one second of affection, of honest, even if fleeting love, Eggsy was willing to give him, he’d take it, even if it would end up breaking his heart.

 

  1. _The first time they wake up together_



Conscience comes back slowly to Eggsy the next morning. At first, there are only feelings, warmth around him, soft sheets pressed against his cheek and an arm slung across waist, heavy and yet comfortable. Fingers tracing the knobs of his spine with touches as soft as the beat of a butterfly’s wings.  
Eggsy’s eyes flutter open, see light, see colour, see shapes, see Harry’s face.  
“Good morning”, the other man mutters and his fingers travel across Eggsy’s side, flitting over his ribs. “Slept well?”  
“Yeah.” The answer has fallen off Eggsy’s lips before he has even thought about it, a second afterwards, he remembers. Remembers a kiss, a proper kiss they both meant, remembers words which they both had muttered against each other’s lips, remembers feeling lighter, fuller, happier than ever before. “Real well. Perfect.”

 

* * *

 

Watching Eggsy sleep is something Harry would never have allowed himself to dream about, and yet knows he will miss every day they’ll spend apart from now on. Sleep brings a certain kind of softness to the boy’s face he has never seen before, and although Harry knows he maybe shouldn’t, he cannot help but touch, wrap one arm around Eggsy tighter, feel the heat of his skin and the hard press of muscles, the gentle huffs of breath against his own body.  
It’s a miracle in Harry’s eyes Eggsy is wrapped up around him, has been since Harry woke up; if he will be given that much time, he knows that it’ll take him weeks at least to believe that Eggsy reciprocates his affection, maybe even his love.

They have a lot to talk about, Harry knows and watches Eggsy slowly wake in his arms, realising that he must have spent almost an hour just marvelling at the boy in his arms, his bed, his life. But maybe, just maybe, they’ll have time to do just that.

 

+1.  _A last kiss_

Harry looks handsome as he walks down the aisle, his shoulders looking even broader in his dark grey suit than they did that morning in bed, his greying hair tamed and his eyes bright as always. He isn’t the princess Daisy wanted for him, nor the sweet, caring girl his mother would have preferred, he isn’t even the hot piece of arse his Ryan and Jamal would have loved him to hook up with, but that doesn’t matter. Because right in this moment, when Harry walks towards him, just like every moment before that, he is just what Eggsy wants, what he has wanted for more than a decade. He is the man who turned Eggsy’s life from a nightmare to something worth fighting for, who has loved and pushed and supported him, the man who Eggsy is still mindlessly, madly in love with.  
Just for a moment, a second really, what Harry has been fretting about these last few days happens – he stumbles, his hand tightening on the grip of his cane, and Eggsy breathes out a sign of relief when Harry doesn’t fall. Breathes out another when the other man, his soon to be husband, doesn’t even seem to notice.

Behind Harry, Merlin is following with his wife Elfie, her hair in a thick, dark braid and her hand resting on her husband’s arm; she whispers something and Eggsy wishes he could hear what it was, because it makes Harry’s expression soften, his lips turn upwards into a brilliant smile.  
He returns it, watches Harry take another few steps until he is joining him in front of the small desk. Without thinking, Eggsy puts a hand on top of the one Harry is holding his cane with, squeezing his fingers. It’s something they have done hundreds of times before, feels as natural as breathing, just as natural as it feels to lean in and kiss Harry. Just a short, sweet press of lips, Harry’s mouth soft and still smiling against his, but it is more than just that – it’s the last kiss Eggsy gives as a bachelor.

He pulls back and yet cannot tear his gaze away from Harry, who looks just like always and yet so different, breathlessly happy and yet helpless.  
“Let’s get married then”, Eggsy whispers, and Harry grins brightly, puts his hand on top of Eggsy’s.  
“Yes. Let’s.”

 

* * *

 

As always, Eggsy is beautiful when Harry sets his eyes on him, and once more, he feels disbelief wash over him that someone as perfect as the boy, the young man in front of him, could love him. But he does, Harry knows that as well as he knows the feelings he harbours in his own chest for Eggsy, he does, enough even to tie himself down to Harry, not just for now, but forever.  
_Forever_ , Harry thinks, and the word makes him falter, causes his feet to stumble, but what he would have considered a terrible blunder at any other time hardly seems important enough to think about now. Because now, Harry has to use every bit of strength left in his brain to commit this to memory, no matter how small the detail, how insignificant it seems now.

So he takes in the faint smell of mown grass wafting in through the windows, Merlin’s and Elfie’s steps behind him, the sound of the registrar leafing through the papers on her desk.  
Elfie whispering, “I’m so happy for both of you, _omorfe mou_.”  
And of course Eggsy. The slope of his shoulders, the curve of his mouth, the green of his eyes, the love shining out of them. The touch, when Eggsy reaches out and covers Harry’s hand with his. The kiss, the sweet, soft touch of lips, which the other bestows on his lips even before they are married. The breathy quality of his life when Eggsy whispers to him, the words sounding so wonderful to his ears that Harry hardly registers it when he answers.

They turn around, although it’s almost impossible for Harry to look away from his fiancé’s face, and the registrar smiles at them and their still joined hands.  
“Now, are you ready?”, she asks, her eyes twinkling playfully, obviously amused that they cannot stay away from each other, not even now.  
Beside him, Eggsy nods, and Harry’s words get stuck in his throat before he can utter them.  
He has never been more ready for anything.


End file.
